


We Lost Our Chance To Run

by wasp



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Drug-Use, F/M, M/M, Major Character Injury, skins!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 17:26:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasp/pseuds/wasp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He feels content, like this feeling of peace settling in his gut that’s got nothing to do with the spliff, because it’s like it was meant to be. They’ve all kind of fallen into each other and it feels <i>right.</i> (Skins!AU loosely based on Rich and Gracie's storyline but with no character death and a happy ending.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Lost Our Chance To Run

“What the bleeding fuck is with the weather?” Zayn all but whines, running his long fingers through his fringe matted down with sweat.

“Cheer up, mate, we’re in fucking Morocco!” Niall says enthusiastically, nudging Zayn with his shoulder.

Liam claps him on the back harder than he’d intended. It’s just that Zayn’s been complaining the whole time they’ve been here and, really, this was supposed to be a fun holiday, their chance to really fuck it up before their last year of college, and Liam’s head is going to split into two if he hears something about the humidity again.

“Ugh,” Zayn says and pulls a horrified face. “Oh, here they come,” he says, perking up a little and pointing towards the pair struggling towards them in front of the tiny, dirt-filled airport.

Liam gets up immediately off the sandy bench they’ve been sitting on, shading his eyes to see against the glaring sun. His shirt’s sticking to his chest uncomfortably from the heat and the sweat and it feels like he’s got glass constantly brushing into his eyes from the sandy wind, he can barely breathe with the way the hair is heavy and weighed down. But the way his pulse jumps erratically and the way his throat dries in anticipation has nothing to do with the weather.

He can barely make out the outline of his friends, sweat dripping into his eyes and stinging them closed, and before he knows it he hears an unintelligible noise and a heavy weight knocks onto him. Louis wraps his legs around his waist, holding on for dear life and getting his arms around his neck to kiss him noisily on the forehead. Liam’s barely aware of Harry grumbling about Louis’ bag, trailing along besides him but he’s mostly blocked from view by Louis.

“I missed youuuuuu,” Louis says in his most ridiculous voice, pouting at Liam and refusing to let go even though they’re sweaty and disgusting. “I was pining away the whole time. Ask Harry, ask anyone, I’ve lost my good figure and everything.”

“We’ve only been here three days longer because some people couldn’t get on a flight in time,” Liam says but he still laughs, keeping Louis up with an arm around his waist, the other tucked against his knee.

It’s unbearably hot and the place they’re staying in has a barely functioning shower. Liam feels dirt dig into his pores and sweat clog to his skin but he doesn’t let go of an equally disgusting Louis. He only trails his palm up his leg, over the fierce red of his trousers until it’s resting against his arse and squeezes with a pointedly raised eyebrow to prove how Louis is a fucking liar and nothing’s being lost after all.

Louis just grins down at him, all heat and filth and so Liam leans forward to kiss him. He feels light-hearted all of a sudden and it’s worrying how sometimes he feels invincible around Louis. He’s aware that he probably tastes like sand and dust but Louis just tangles his fingers in Liam’s sweaty hair and tugs him closer. Liam lets go of him when he hears Zayn starting to feign vomiting and Louis just slides down slowly, keeping their bodies flushed together with a promising grin.

“We’re all here in one piece, no harm done,” Harry says with a nod of his head, his curls bouncing into his eyes innocently. He shrugs like it wasn’t his fault they missed their flight and had find other means to get to fucking Morocco. Like hitchhiking and countless buses and multiple coaches for forty eighth ours.

Niall laughs brightly, leaning over to throw his arm around Harry’s shoulder and ruffle at his matted curls. Apparently the cloying heat can’t even keep anyone apart for longer than five seconds. Niall doesn’t seem to mind the heat, his arms already fading from the red sunburn to a tan underneath the sleeveless cut of his top, but he doesn’t really mind anything. He grins up at Harry, pleased with the fact that everyone’s finally where they’re supposed to be – on holidays about to get fucked off their faces – and says, “I say we get this shitshow on the road, aye lads?”

Zayn stares at him with a look on his face that’s blatantly showing what he thinks of his unbridled enthusiasm. He tugs at his hair in frustration and gives up, shoving the highlighted strands back with a pained expression on his face.

  
“Nialler, you drive. I have some catching up to do with my one and only,” Louis says, patting Niall on the bum fondly and throwing him the keys.

Liam’s attentions jerks away from Louis in alarm, his hand flying to his back pocket because how did Louis even pull that off. He just sighs, rolling his eyes as Louis tugs him into the backseat of the rusty old truck they’ve rented for the purpose of their vacation and settles close to him. The heat is enough to drive the both of them mental, they’re skin sticking together in a definitely not fun way, but neither of them moves away.

“If any I see any penises I swear to god I will turn this car around,” Niall says, sliding into the front seat and starting the truck.

Harry slides into the seat beside him, tipping his head back, fatigued from their unnecessarily difficult journey. Zayn settles down between them even if it’s cramped up front, insistently claiming he’s not going to be in the earshot of Louis not so whispering about Liam’s talented pianist fingers.

~

What Louis wanted to say when he’d first met Liam was, “Could you do me a favour and bend me over that piano?”

What he thankfully ended up saying was, “Wow. Do you want to autograph my arse?” which he later thinks is marginally better than it could’ve been.

He’s late for college, his head aching from the night before, wearing only one shoe because he woke up someplace that was decidedly not his home and didn’t have the time to do anything but pat the dirt off his trousers and go to school. He wanders down the hallway, knocking his knuckles against the lockers and trying to figure out which class he’s supposed to be in since he doesn’t have his timetable. Or his books or a pen or even a bag.

Louis’ considering just bunking off, doesn’t know why he’s bothered in the first place with school, when he hears it. He tilts his head to the side, convinced his hangover’s developed to the point he’s hearing instrumental music ringing inside his head but as he continues dragging his feet down the hallway, the music only swells louder. He’s almost scared to push open the door, barely able to look into the room from the slitted gap, and then he thinks how ridiculous that is and shoves it open.

The music doesn’t stop at once and Louis stands in the doorway, his mouth falling open to see someone playing, his eyebrows drawn down in immense concentration, the line of his back straight and gorgeous. Louis thinks the whole thing is ridiculous, this isn’t a fucking movie, but he can’t take his eyes off the long fingers flying over the black and white keys.

Louis’s eyes jerk up when the music stops abruptly and he turns around, mouth falling open in shock. He’s good, he’s _really_ good, to the point Louis thinks he must not be a student at his stupid little college. Which is when he lets the ‘autograph my arse slip’ through.

“Uh,” he says, bewildered and confused.

“Or like my leg or something, it’s up to you,” Louis says, entering the room tentatively, contrasting jarringly with his words. He turns around, twisting around to stare at his arse and shrugging. “Your loss.”

“What,” he says in reply, his elbow coming up to smash on keys by accident, sending a raucous wave of sound around the room.

“You’re pretty good,” Louis says, limping forward. “Do you go to this shithole?” he asks once he reaches the piano, hitting the last key with his index finger.

“Thanks,” he says, eyes wide in surprise. He flushes, lowering his gaze to stare at how Louis’ tapping at the same key over and over again, a corner of his mouth tilting up sweetly.

He doesn’t say anything else for a little while but Louis doesn’t mind, just slides into the seat next to him until their sides are pressed together.

“You should hear me play, I’ve been told I’m kind of a wunderkind when it comes to this,” Louis squints his eyes, leaning forward to read, “grand pee-ah-no.”

Louis starts to play the chopsticks and he can hear the boy’s laughter over it, hesitant and unsure – like he’s not sure if Louis’ taking the piss – and it kind of feels like his heart’s dropped all of a sudden except it’s making him giddy and fluttery.

“I’m a student here,” he says suddenly, starting to match Louis’ chopstick on his side. “I study music,” he says after a beat and when Louis turns his head to look at him, he’s wincing in what has to be the most adorable thing Louis’ ever seen in his life.

“ _No_ ,” Louis says in a hushed whisper and startles another laugh out of him, their arms brushing against each other.

He’s cute in the way that confuses Louis on whether he wants to blow him in an empty cubicle or squeeze his cheeks together. He doesn’t see why he can’t do both. Louis finds it hard to look away, missing the keys in a ‘piece’ that five year olds master in ten minutes. It’s just his whole face changes when he laughs, a dimple appearing on his right cheek and Louis wants nothing more than to brush the pad of his thumb over it, to press his lips against the birthmark on his neck and most of all for him to bend him over the edge of the piano.

“My name’s Louis,” he says, giving up on the piano and offering his hand to possibly the love of his life.

“I’m Liam,” he replies and stops as well, curling his hand around Louis’ in a firm grip. He has really nice hands. Louis shakes it for longer than necessary and holds on for another moment.

“Your pinky’s crooked,” Louis says, staring down at his hand and running the tips of his fingers over them. He finally let’s Liam wriggle his hand free, clasping his hands together on his lap.

“I started playing the piano when I was five and I had tiny hands,” Liam says, waving them around, “and I had to really stretch to play octaves and above.”

Louis grabs one again and holds it up to his eye, shamelessly using it as an excuse to keep touching him. Louis wonders what it means if he finds Liam’s splayed pinkies cute. He doesn’t think it’s good news. They’re not so tiny anymore, his hands, they feel strong and capable and like they could take Louis apart in no time at all.

Liam catches sight of his watch from the way Louis’ holding his hand up and pulls away abruptly. He looks apologetic, biting down on his bottom lip but he’s packing away his music sheets in a hurry.

“Shit, sorry, I’ve got track,” Liam says and scrambles to his feet, a sheet escaping his grasp.

Louis gathers it for him and stands up as well, the piano chair sliding back with an unexpected sound.

“You’ve only got one shoe on,” Liam says suddenly, stopping his mad fumble for his things to stare at Louis with a dumbfounded expression on his face.

“Yeah,” Louis says as if it’s a regular occurrence. Liam’s smiling though with a confused quirk of his eyebrows.

Louis doesn’t expect Liam to toe his white converse sneakers off, stepping out of them. He looks up and says, “I don’t have like foot fungi or anything, I swear.” He looks a little mortified when he glances back down at his sock-clad feet, like that fact he’s offering his shoes to a complete stranger is only now dawning on him.

“You can’t give me your shoes,” Louis says, gaping at him and wondering when it started to hurt, the way his heart was beating against his bones.

“I’ve got another pair for track,” Liam says hurriedly, flushing pink. “If you don’t want them you should just,” he backs away, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get out as he reaches blindly for the doorknob, “throw them away or burn them, I don’t – I.”

“Thanks,” Louis calls out after him. “Not sure if you’re going to want ‘em after I get through with them but thanks!” Louis says, waving at Liam’s retreating figure and letting the huge grin spread over his face.

He sits back down on the piano chair and when he reaches down to pull his shoe off, he catches sight of a stray piece of paper. When he tugs it free he realises it’s from Liam’s music sheet. He folds it carefully along the edges and slides it into his pocket, grinning stupidly. He bends over again and makes quick work of his shoe, fitting Liam’s over his feet.

He walks out of the music room feeling like he’s won something.

~

“Who’d you steal those off then?” Niall asks, nodding down at Louis’ shoes as soon as he slides into the seat beside him. He pointedly glances at Harry’s feet to point out how he’s wearing his own converse sneakers so it obviously isn’t Harry’s.

“Why do you always assume I steal things?” Louis asks, ducking his hand under Niall’s elbow quickly to steal a chip. He looks off into the cafeteria, chewing slowly and trying to look as mysterious as possible. It just involves a lot of squinting at random people.

He looks down at Liam’s shoes again, wriggling his toes comfortably. Louis doesn’t like laces, that much is evident in his usual shoe choices, and they’re undone, splayed all over the place in contrast to the way Liam was wearing them, tight and tied with a perfect bow in the middle.

“One, they’re too clean to be yours,” Niall says, ticking it off his finger, “Two, you don’t wear _proper_ shoes and three, you do have a record of stealing things. And mostly it’s because they’ve got someone else’s name on them.” Niall reaches down to jerk the tongue down, tilting his head at an awkward angle to try and make it out.

“ _Really_?” Louis says in delight, he hadn’t seen it when he’d been putting them on.

He bends over as well, pushing Niall’s head away to read Liam’s name in his neat handwriting. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the fact Liam is in _college_ and probably some kind of piano prodigy and he wrote his name on _shoes_. Louis wants to know if he tags his underwear. He wants to know that an awful lot, preferably while it’s lying on his bedroom floor and Liam’s splayed out on his bed, too tired to move.

“Did you steal shoes off someone who writes their name on them? That’s cruel, even for you, Lou,” Harry says, shaking his head in mock-disappointment so his curls bounce everywhere.

Louis just grabs his head, smoothing his curls down and hugging him to his chest. “Quiet down, curly.”

“How do you know Liam?” Niall asks, taking a bite out of Harry’s banana while he’s otherwise occupied.

“How do _you_ know the future father of my adopted children?” Louis asks, straightening up and letting Harry go.

Harry smothers his snort in his palm, shaking his head at Louis.

Louis says, “You’ve heard him play?” at the same time Niall throws his head back, laughing loudly and says, “Steady on mate, you’ve only just stolen his shoes.”

“I didn’t _steal_ them,” Louis huffs out, trying to look as offended as possible. “He _gave_ them to me – it was very Cinderella-esque and romantic.”

“That’s not even a little bit right,” Harry says, shaking his head at Louis.

“Are you gonna help me get it in with Prince Romeo or what?” Louis asks, looking up at Niall with pleading puppy dog eyes.

Niall rolls his eyes.

“It’s Prince Charming you _twat_ ,” Harry says, laughing into Niall’s shoulder.

~

Liam’s more than a little dazed as he’s walking down the hallway, deaf and blind to the reaction he’s provoking from people in the crowded hallway for the first time since he’s started college. The cold hard ground is filtering through in his brain distantly to tell him that, yes, he’s walking through school in nothing but his socks on but he’s too busy clutching at his bag strap for dear life to do anything about it. He still hasn’t fully recovered from Louis, his hands still warm with his prints, when Zayn runs up from behind and tackles him into a hug.

He keeps his grip on him, swinging an arm around his neck and pulling him in closer. He frowns when he catches sight of Liam’s ashen face and gives him a quick once over, his eyes lingering on his socked feet in confusion. He lets go of Liam, glancing around frantically in the hallway before digging his fingers into Liam’s shoulders to try and shake him out of it.

“Where are your shoes?” he asks, tripping over his boots to stare at the state of Liam’s feet. Liam keeps walking through the hallway like he hadn’t been interrupted, staring straight-ahead as what happened five minutes continues to replay in his mind like a particularly horrible unrelenting flashback.

“I,” Liam manages to croak out. He falls silent again, gaping at nothing in particular, his mouth opening and closing silently.

“You _what_ , Liam? Oh Christ, did Mathewson get into _college_? I can’t spend two more years sharing shoes with you, mate, I can’t,” Zayn says, twisting around to look for the familiar bulking figure. He doesn’t relax until Liam grabs his wrist and turns his head, finally making eye-contact with him.

“You’re not getting bullied by someone else already, are you?” Zayn asks, curling his hand at the nape of Liam’s neck protectively. Like his skinny ass could do anything about it – they’ve had this conversation (“I have _tattoos_ , Liam, I could totally beat someone up.”)

Liam just shakes his head, still in his little stupor. He snaps out of it bit by bit, shaking his arms out because there’s his odd warmth radiating from his belly and down to the ends of his limbs. He doesn’t remember that being the normal reaction to people complimenting his music, it’s like the feeling he gets when someone enjoys what he does times a million thousand.

“I gave them to someone,” Liam says and looks at Zayn with an expression on his face screaming _what have I done?_

“Okay,” Zayn says calmly, shrugging as if he’s saying they can fix this, no problem, just nobody panic. “Why?” Zayn asks and stills so they’re both standing in the hallway.

“He only had one shoe,” Liam says, wide-eyed and disbelieving at himself. “And I had my track shoes. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“So why aren’t you wearing them?” Zayn says patiently as he knows how. He glances around at the people staring at the barefoot student in the hallway and smiles, waving casually. They’re going to think he’s homeless or some kind of a modern hippie or a hobbit.

“They’re in my locker. I – I gave him my shoes, oh my god Zayn, I gave him my _shoes_. He was, he offered me his arse and held my hand and then I just, shit, what am I doing?” Liam asks, the words drying up in his throat until he’s left to gape at Zayn in horror again.

“Alright, calm down,” Zayn says, resting his hand firmly on Liam’s shoulder. He breathes deeply through his nose, motioning vaguely for Liam to copy him.

Liam does but only because it’s Zayn and he sometimes has the ability to make things better.

“He offered you his _arse_? Bloody hell, you’re not even trying and I’ve been breaking my neck since college started to get some,” Zayn says, shaking his head as if he’s personally offended by this fact, as if he wasn’t caught in the bathroom two days ago with a red-headed girl.

Liam thinks maybe this isn’t one of those times Zayn can make everything better.

“So did you get his name? Or are you just hitting it, giving him your shoes, and quitting it?” he asks, his lips curling into a crooked, amused smile.

Liam shoves at his shoulder, pulling back so he won’t actually do any real damage because Liam’s found out he has the ability to send Zayn flying across the room if he doesn’t. Zayn only laughs and swings his arm around his neck again, starting to walk down the hallway again since Liam’s mortification has erased his knowledge of his timetable.

“I’m such a loser,” Liam groans and covers his face with his hands, blindly letting Zayn lead him down to the field.

Zayn nods in agreement, laughing into his ear.

“It’s Louis. His name’s Louis.”

~

Harry’s spent two whole days with Louis, fumbling around and trying to not get horrifically killed by strangers who were crazy enough to offer them a ride. He’s tired and dirty and sweaty and he wants to get back to their motel room so he can sleep for a little while and then get really start their holiday. It was kind of a split second decision, to go to Morocco before their last year of college, and Liam had done most of the work and they’d already managed to fuck up most of it.

He turns around to stare out the glass pane of the truck, a smile curling around his mouth from the way Liam and Louis are twisted around each other out back. They’re clothes are flapping in the breeze, Liam holding onto the bars so they don’t go tumbling out the back and Louis holding onto Liam because he never really needs an excuse, does he?

Harry’s glad they’re happy, even if it’s just for now, it hasn’t been exactly easy for any of them.

When Harry turns back to the front, settling down between Zayn and Niall again, he takes a moment to glance at them. Zayn’s still pouting, scratching at his neck and looking miserable but Harry knows most of it’s for show. Niall looks like he belongs here, sweaty and red, with his ruddy cheeks not all that different from how it is back at school.

“You stink like ass,” Niall says and reaches over, one hand still on the steering wheel, to punch Harry square in the arm.

“So do you,” Harry replies with a snort, squirming away and into Zayn.

“Yeah, so, about that,” Niall says, twisting his mouth to the side, “the shower isn’t really,” he trails off to squint down the road.

“It isn’t really _working_ ,” Zayn supplies, rolling his eyes.

“Alright,” Harry says amiably even if that’s all he was looking forward to and reaches down underneath his seat for his bag. There’s nothing a little bit of weed can’t fix.

Zayn sags back into the seat, closing his eyes like he’s going to slip into one of his moods. Harry doesn’t want Zayn to slip into one of his moods, he wants him to be happy and languid and ridiculous. He leans over Zayn, holding the joint under his nose and waits patiently for his eyes to snap open and for the warm, welcoming grin to spread on his face.

“What would I do without Harold Styles,” Zayn says, shaking his head with a grin. He plucks it out of Harry’s fingers, his other hand scrambling to get into the back pocket of his trousers, his hips coming off the seat.

Harry glances at Zayn side-ways, pleased with himself, and sees the minute flash of panic on his face. He finally pulls his lighter out of his back pocket, relief settling back onto his features. Harry knows it’s the lighter his grandpa left him before he passed away, he can remember him flicking it over and over again till the skin of his thumb was red and blistered, his eyes raw red and straining to see past the flame for god knows what. He shakes his head because Liam’s told him a million times to keep it in a safe place since he loses it every three seconds and has a mini panic attack but doesn’t say anything about it.

“Rot to death in a pile of sweat and dirt in Morocco,” Harry says instead and lets Zayn pull him closer with an arm around his neck and kiss his dimpled cheek.

“ _Oi_ ,” Niall says in a way that’s distinctly saying _not fair_ , reaching over to hit Harry again but Zayn doesn’t let go of him, keeping him out of reach. Louis probably had this in mind when he’d made Niall drive in the first place.

Zayn takes a long drag, his eyelashes fanning across the cut of his cheekbones as he closes his eyes. He lets the smoke out in a thin stream after a while, holding the joint loosely between his fingers. He takes another puff and hands it over to Harry, grinning loosely already.

Harry turns around to check on Liam and Louis and he just turns to the front around again, shaking his head fondly. He should’ve known Louis’ already holding a joint to Liam’s lips, pinched between his thumb and index finger. He must’ve bettered his persuasive skills since Liam’s not even protesting – or maybe it’s just Morocco.

He feels content, like this feeling of peace settling in his gut that’s got nothing to do with the spliff, because it’s like it was meant to be. They’ve all kind of fallen into each other and it feels _right_.

~

Louis lets the heavy smoke roll around on his tongue before he breathes in, Liam’s hand unbearably warm on the nape of his neck. He grins up at him and Liam leans forward to kiss the curve of his smile, holding his face in his hands, careful not to get ash on the both of them. It’s just nice, the start of their little vacation, and Louis can’t think of a better way to spend it with Liam and their best friends.

Liam pulls away from Louis, holding the joint between his lips as he clambers up on strong legs. He holds onto the railing of the truck for a moment, standing there with his head tilted back to let the wind whip at his face. He holds the joint between two fingers and spreads his arms, letting go of the structure to suck in a deep breath and let out a whoop.

Louis laughs, squinting up at him through the glare of the harsh sun, his hand shielding the worst of it and painting the gaps between his fingers a reddish-orange. It just kind of hits him out of nowhere sometimes, how much he loves this boy with his floppy hair and steadfast determination. He clambers up after him, staggering around as Niall drives over a bump in the road and grabs hold of Liam’s waist to steady himself. Zayn turns around to stare at them, shaking his head and pulling a face at their terrible rendition of the Titanic. Louis ignores him, wrapping his arms around Liam’s waist and cheering with him. Zayn seems to think _fuck it_ and sticks his head out the window too, copying them. Harry bangs on the roof of the car enthusiastically and he can hear Niall laughing in his maniacal way.

Liam shouts unintelligibly into the wind, a brilliant smile stretching his lips, turning his head slightly to nudge against Louis. Louis stands on his tippy-toes to press a kiss behind Liam’s ear and say, “I love you.”

~

They drive until the buildings start thinning out and there’s more vegetation than people. Niall finally pulls up outside their motel, the wheel riding up onto the curb, and pulls his keys out. Harry leans over Niall to look out the window. He hardly thinks it could be called a motel. It’s mostly a dirty, cramped looking building in the middle of butt fuck nowhere. He raises his eyebrows at Niall but he just shrugs and climbs out of the car.

Harry wants to give the place the benefit of the doubt, maybe it’ll be really nice inside even though he has no idea where the fuck their pool is supposed to be, and hauls his luggage up the dirty grimy stairs. He can already hear Louis complaining behind him but Niall leads them up to their room.

“Are you fucking serious?” Louis asks Niall, staring at the tiny, dirty room with disgust. He’s pretty sure the walls are packed with mud – and not on purpose. “I’m not sleeping in here.”

Zayn jumps and shuffles closer to Liam as a cockroach scuttles past him from underneath the lumpy mattress.

“We were supposed to have separate rooms but this is all we got,” Zayn says in a resigned voice, motioning to the two single beds and a pile of mattresses stacked up at the side. The whole place is already covered in their clothes and the three of them have only been here for two nights.

“It’s not that bad?” Harry says uncertainly, pulling Niall closer by an arm on his shoulder.

“It’s a fucking shithole, that’s what it is – Niall, what happened to our four star motel?” Louis demands, side-stepping another cockroach and approaching one of the beds cautiously.

“I don’t know, mate – I did the best with the budget,” Niall says with an indifferent shrug. He doesn’t sound all that sorry though. He just drops his keys on the tiny bed and grabs Harry around the waist. He pulls them both down, the mattress springs squeaking obnoxiously.

“Got no-one to blame but yourself, Tommo, it was your boyfriend who was supposed to sort out the accommodations,” Zayn says, falling onto the other bed. He tucks his hands behind his head and glares at them pointedly. It’s mostly for show, he’s feeling lazy and would like some juice to fill his parched mouth but he’s not one to pass up making someone feel guilty. Especially Louis Tomlinson.

“I was but…” Liam trails off, scratching idly at the nape of his neck.

“He got a bit, uh, distracted,” Louis says, sticking his tongue into his cheek lewdly and winking at Zayn because he’s a little _shit._

Zayn rolls his eyes. Liam at least has the gall to look apologetic, his eyebrows drawn up in that all too-familiar puppy look Zayn is not going to fall for. Zayn doesn’t relent, glaring at the both of them with as much heat as he can muster with the way his heartbeat’s slowed down to heavy thumps.

Liam turns to Louis and looks scandalised at what he’s doing with his face, flushing bright pink over his already darkening tan. Zayn gathers maybe Liam hadn’t intended to smack Louis’ _arse_ , probably missed his back or something, to get him to quit it but Louis’ eyelids end up fluttering shut anyway and Zayn squeezes his eyes shut.

“I don’t need to see this,” Zayn moans, throwing his arm over his eyes. He hears Liam _giggle_ and Zayn’s so not here for that shit. “Please, cease and desist.”

“There’s not enough room for you two anyway,” Niall says, stretching out on the bed, “And we don’t want to see you try to have holiday sex either so.”

“Where are we supposed to sleep?” Louis demands and Niall just points up, shrugging in what he probably thinks is an apologetic manner.

It’s not.

~

Liam sets the mattresses down on the concrete, taking in their surroundings with his eyebrows drawn up.

“It’s not that bad,” he says, arranging the mattresses so they more or less resemble a double bed.

It’s really not that bad at all, he doesn’t even know if they’re allowed up on the roof but he can definitely get behind this. It’s a bit like camping, fresh air and all that. Liam fumbles with the sheets they brought up with them, spreading it over the mattresses and tucking down the sides by himself since Louis’ adamantly refusing to help.

“Liam, we’re sleeping on a roof. Under the _sky_ ,” Louis says, walking over towards the edge to stare down at the dirt-packed road beneath them. He’s got his arms crossed, his weight on one leg and Liam’s got to say as much he’s enjoying the sunset he’s enjoying this view a lot more.

“I like it. It’s like we’re getting back to nature or something,” Liam says, propping the pathetic excuses for pillows up near the head of their make-shift bed. It doesn’t look that bad at all. They’ve got fresh air, a modicum of privacy and won’t have to share with Niall who’s probably already farted up a storm.

“ _You_ would,” Louis says, shaking his head in mock-exasperation. When he turns his head to glance at Liam, his gaze fond and soft, he raises an eyebrow in surprise. He spins around, forgetting his determination in being an uncooperative prat. He seems a lot more interested in joining Liam now that he’s finished with all the hard work. “What are you doing?”

Liam pulls his shirt over his head, wiping his face with it before dropping it carefully to the side. He leans over, aware of Louis’ inching forward in what he probably thinks is a subtle manner, and grabs the sunscreen out of his bag.

“Putting sunscreen on. We _are_ sitting right under the sun,” Liam says as if it’s obvious. He squirts some of the sunscreen into his palm and smoothes it over his already tanning arm. He rubs the cream into his skin until the white starts to fade and it’s just gleaning faintly in the setting sun.

“Oh yeah, that’s a great idea,” Louis says, abandoning his role as the grumpy, disgruntled boyfriend and climbing onto the mattress behind Liam. He settles down behind Liam, grabbing the sunscreen off him and squirting a ridiculous amount into his hand. He smooths his palm, burning hot and so familiar at this point, down the muscles of his back, making sure to get his shoulders too as he says, “I’ve got your back.”

Liam only laughs, turning his head to watch him stick his tongue out on mock-concentration. The sky’s turned rosy gold pink and it’s reflected in the warmth of his skin, contrasting with the blue of his eyes and throwing spiky shadows under the spread of his eyelashes. The laugh kind of gets caught in Liam’s throat and he twists around, pressing their lips together.

“I love you too.”

~

Louis would like to remember every kiss Liam and he’s shared, a thought he doesn’t voice out loud for obvious reasons, but that’s just plain silly and impossible. He remembers the important ones though like kissing Liam in apology when he’s shaking and believing he’s never going to be good enough or being kissed sudden in the middle of the hallway for finishing his course work on time or for the very first time.

It was a surprise, to say the least, Louis always thought he’d be the one pulling Liam into it, taking control and taking his uncertain hands into his own. But it somehow turns out to be the exact opposite and it’s not Louis _minds_.

They’re walking to the nearby bus stop from college since Zayn’s busy getting his dick sucked in his car. Louis’ just laughing at something stupid Liam had said, he’d caught him off-guard and that’s what he likes best about Liam, he’s full of surprises. He doesn’t remember exactly what he’d say, just that Louis had been absolutely delighted _._

Louis turns his head, laughter sticking to his throat as he caught sight of Liam’s face. He’s just staring at Louis with the corner of his mouth tilted up, making Louis feel like he makes the world spin right. And it’s kind of heavy and makes Louis feel like he’s going to disappoint him somehow just by standing there, being Louis, and he’s so terrified Liam’s going to stop looking at him like that one day (since he doesn’t even know what he’s done in the first place).

He just reaches for Louis with no hesitation, his palms cupping his jaw and pulling him in closer to kiss the bow of his lips. Liam stays close, lingering like he’s _sure_ about this, but pulls back after a while. His thumb’s still sweeping across Louis’ cheekbone and then it seems to hit him, his eyes turning wide and round at what he’s done. Louis doesn’t want that, he doesn’t want him to regret it or take it back and so he smiles even if his heart’s clenching urgently, as if it’s trying to tell him _no_ – _don’t_ , and surges closer again.

Liam makes a sound that’s pure relief and kisses him again, his arm curling around Louis’ waist. And then a car somewhere starts to honk insistently and Louis doesn’t actually give a shit, he’s willing to make out with Liam in public for as long it takes to get arrested for public indecency but Liam’s already pulling away. He laughs when Louis chases after his mouth though, thumbing at his chin fondly.

Louis turns to glare at whoever the fuck was rude enough to interrupt such a monumental moment in his life. His eyes land on the man behind the steering wheel with disturbingly familiar eyebrows, glaring at them pointedly, his hands clutching at the wheel in a way that’s turning his whole hand pale.

When Louis turns back to Liam, the pinkness of his cheeks have faded into an ashen tone but he still looks determined. He doesn’t move for another moment, hugging Louis to him. He leans back to kiss him again, soft and short, his fingers lingering against the skin of his neck before he pulls himself away. He’s walking backwards, smiling goofily at Louis through the weird panic that’s set in his eyes.

“It’s just my dad,” he says and Louis can feel the forced casualness on the word ‘just’. “I’ll call you, yeah?” he adds hopefully, his eyebrows doing that adorable thing that makes Louis want to cry at the best of times.

“Yeah,” Louis breathes out softer than he’d have liked. His chest feels like it’s being slowly pumped with something heavy and clawing and he can’t breathe with the euphoria swirling in his stomach. “I mean, of course, you better,” Louis says, trying to get his voice back to normal.

Liam smiles at him, waving dorkily before getting into the car. Louis watches with interest, hearing a snippet of Liam’s dad’s stormy tone before the door shuts behind him. He can see the expression on his dad’s face, dark frown firmly in place, but Liam keeps his eyes on Louis as they drive past.

Louis remembers it so vividly because the period between that kiss and their next kiss almost killed him.

It’s feels like Liam’s actively avoiding Louis afterwards, they’ve got no classes together and he barely sees him in the hallways. And when he does, he’s always rushing to and fro, flustered and juggling a bajillion things at once. Louis refuses to fret over it, because he knew better, because there’s a reason he doesn’t do this but the reality is him lying on top of Harry and refusing to move for long periods of time.

Louis decides _fuck it_ and pulls Liam into an empty room the next time he sees him in the hallways.

“Did I do something wrong?” Louis demands, his hand tightening on Liam’s bloody nice arm.

He prefers to get it over and done with, rip off the band-aid. He’d usually leave it, bury it deep so he won’t have to face what it _means_ and all that stupid shit but this, whatever it is, feels like it could be important if Louis doesn’t try his best to ruin it.

“Because you kissed _me_ and as much as I enjoyed that you haven’t looked me in the eyes since then,” Louis snaps harder than he’d intended. It’s just – he’s not stupid, he doesn’t like being treated like he’s stupid.

What Louis doesn’t expect is for Liam’s face to _crumple_ and suddenly he looks stricken and can barely speak. He opens his mouth and closes it wordlessly, motioning helplessly with his hands. He finally seems to get his shit together, coughing out his apology, “Oh god, I’m so sorry.”

Louis tries to stay stony, get ready for the “It was a mistake” that’s soon to follow.

“I’ve been so busy with practise and my parents, well my _parents_ – I’ve got a recital coming up,” Liam says and he looks so earnest and sincere it makes Louis’ stomach flip and he’s suddenly finding it hard to keep up his act.

“Oh,” Louis says and now that Liam’s not just a blur in a crow, he can see the purple rings smudged underneath his kind eyes and the way his hands are shaking. “Hey, it’s alright,” he says, frowning slightly and reaching for his hand.

“No, it’s not,” Liam says and continues to look wretchedly sorry. Louis thinks he shouldn’t be so open, it _hurts_. “It’s just – my parents aren’t very, I’ve never had a boyfriend before and they weren’t even going to be okay with the idea of a _girlfriend_ , so,” he shrugs helplessly, physically stopping himself from rambling on by slamming his mouth shut. He glances at the ground instead, seemingly lost in his misery, and Louis shuffles his feet, tries to hide Liam’s shoes from view even if it’s ridiculous.

“Boyfriend? Did I miss a memo or something?” Louis asks, mostly teasing. He grabs both of Liam’s hands, playing with his fingers and running his thumb over his pinky.

Louis scrunches his up his face, his head whipping upwards. He looks mortified and says, “I didn’t mean to imply anything.” He looks like he wants to hide his face in his hands but Louis’ thankfully too busy tangling them together with his own.

“Don’t disappoint me _now,_ you’ve got my hopes up and everything,” he says, aiming for a cheeky enough tone to turn it around if this doesn’t go the way he thinks it’s going to go. His stomach’s kind of dropped a notch or two and he forgets how breathing works for a second as he waits for Liam’s reply.

“Is that okay with you?” Liam asks nervously, like he thinks Louis’ capable of just fucking around with him. But. He still asks. He’s willing to risk it and it spurs Louis into action.

He tightens his grip on Liam’s hand and reaches up to kiss him, steadying Liam with a tug of his hands. The tension in his body melts away and he obliges easily, lips warm and soft against his own.

“Yeah, I guess,” Louis says against his lips, grinning uncontrollably.

He pulls back farther enough to catch Liam’s smile too, tired and strung-out but undeniably happy.

~

“Niall, get back in the truck,” Liam shouts, laughing as he drives slowly after him on unfamiliar terrain. Zayn yells at Niall to ignore him, shouting out encouragements out the window.

“No, I’ve almost got it,” Niall shouts back, scurrying around the dark. He’s trying to follow the sound of the music, he could always feel a party to crash on the horizon, but they’ve been wandering around in a country they know nothing about for a while now without really getting anyway.

“He’s got this,” Zayn says, banging his palm against the side of truck.

They hear Niall shout out in triumph, jumping into the air with his legs split and Liam has the admit the music’s certainly louder.

“Told you,” Zayn says, already climbing out of the truck. Liam slows the truck to a stop, shaking his head as Zayn runs after Niall.

Trust Niall to sense a party in Morocco in a fucking posh villa. The three of them follow after Zayn and Niall at a slower pace, staring up at the building incredulously. Honestly, they don’t crash parties like this at _home_. Zayn and Niall have got their arms slung around each other, standing at the door with bright, matching grins when it swings open.

“Hiya mate,” Niall says brightly, lifting his snapback off his head by the brim. He tilts his finger in the guy’s direction. He seems extremely pleased with himself.

The music’s blaring out towards them and the guy and his posse, probably rich kids on holiday on their parent’s money, raises an eyebrow at them.

“What’s the craic?” Niall asks, grinning at each one of them in a way that most people find irresistible to say no to.

They disperse into the crowd, Niall jumping into the pool almost immediately, and Louis goes off to get drinks almost as fast.

“What are you doing in the bathroom?” Louis asks, poking his head in through the half-open door. Everyone’s outside in the pool area but he had a feeling this was where Liam would be.

Liam’s squatting inside the bathtub, looking around the shiny tiles with something akin to wonder on his face. Louis’ got two shots in his hand and he feels like drinking both of them to catch up with whatever Liam’s on. Liam turns to him, his eyes distressingly clear though, and smiles.

“Look at this bathroom,” he says in awe, fingers trailing against the fancy claws of the shiny taps.

“Trust you to fall in love with a _bathroom_ at a party in _Morocco_ ,” Louis says, only a little bit miffed Liam’s not grinding against him on the dance floor with the rest of his friends.

“How big is this bathtub?” Liam asks pointedly, reclining back against one of the sides and raising an eyebrow at him.

Louis stares at him for a moment before it dawns on him and a dirty grin starts to spread on his face. He hands a shot to Liam, clicking their glasses together before throwing it down his throat. Liam does the same, wincing at the taste and Louis darts forward to kiss it away from their mouths.

“I’ll get a bottle of something, you start the bath,” Louis says, eyes shining brightly as Liam leans forward after his mouth. He points at the bathtub and says, “I want you to be naked and covered in bubbles by the time I get back.”

On his mission to steal a bottle of champagne, Louis almost trips over Zayn sprawled by the pool, a lazy grin and something that stinks too strong to be a cigarette.

“Alright mate?” Louis asks and Zayn just grabs him by the hand, pulling him down beside him.

“I don’t know what the fuck just happened,” he says but he’s still drunkenly relaxed, in a state of calmness that might not have anything to do with alcohol after all.

“What?” Louis asks, peering at him in concern.

“That Dave guy, he tried to get me to suck his dick,” Zayn says and giggles, shrugging his shoulders heavily. Louis raises his eyebrows at him and Zayn quickly tacks on, “The guy, the guy with the villa and the party.” He waves his hand around as if that’s the main point and so Louis nudges his chin up to squint at him. “Oh, I mean, I refused and then he got really weird and shouted a bit but apologised immediately and gave me a fuckload of ganja.”

“The fuck?” Louis asks, gripping Zayn by the shoulders. “Are you sure you’re alright?” he says, he doesn’t want to leave Zayn if he’s not.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m _fine_ ,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes. “But what are the odds, huh?” he asks again, shaking his head and laughing.

Louis laughs along, clapping Zayn on the back because of course he gets to turn turn down a guy and walk away with weed. Zayn only laughs harder and waves him away, making eye-contact with a girl in a purple bikini from across the pool.

“Okay fuck off now, I’ve got people to do, things to see,” Zayn says, scrambling up.

Louis watches him for a moment, finally getting up to continue his search for champagne when the pretty girl shoves her hand down the front of Zayn’s jeans. It’s not that hard to steal a bottle, the party’s in full swing already and there’s no-one there to stop him from taking it back to the bathroom.

When he shuts the door behind him, Liam’s in the bathtub, soapy bubbles covering is skin, soft and rosy in the candlelight. Louis laughs breathlessly against the door and Liam just wriggles his eyebrows. Louis hurries out of his clothes and briefly entertains the thought of dive-bombing into the massive bathtub but the idea of getting his dick sucked tonight is a lot more entertaining.

He slides into the tub and Liam steadies him with his arms, pulling him down and until he’s more or less settled. He flicks the stray bubbles off Louis’ nose with a grin, reaching over for the champagne.

“You didn’t bring any glasses?” Liam asks, reading the label with a curious tilt of his eyebrows.

Louis rolls his eyes and says, “No, your highness.”

Liam pops it open and presses it to Louis’ mouth, tilting the bottle up before leaning forward to catch the taste from Louis’ mouth.

“Thanks,” he says when he pulls back, his hand skating down Louis’ ribs under the water. Louis knows he’s not just talking about the champagne but the vacation, getting away from it all before the pressure of his last year falls on him again. He nods along any way, plucking the bottle out of Liam’s hand and setting it aside.

~

Liam’s parents had never been happy with Louis, that much Louis’ sure of. It never did stop him from attending Liam’s recitals though, sitting in the front road just seats away from them. It’s easy to forget about them when Liam’s on stage. He’s just the most amazing fucking thing Louis’ ever seen and sometimes he still can’t believe at the end of the night he gets to hold those hands and thread their fingers together.

Louis almost knocks his chair back when he applauds, standing on his feet and whistling as loud as he can even though it’s not that kind of event. Liam laughs on stage, eyes squinting shut in the glaring stage lights and Louis can almost feel Liam’s parent’s displeasure bore holes into the sides of his head. It doesn’t matter though, nothing matters but _Liam_.

“You’re fucking brilliant,” Louis says afterwards when Liam’s still shaking from the lecture his dad’s given him about some tiny mistake Louis hadn’t even been able to pick up on.

“Yeah?” Liam asks and he sounds so small and uncertain it breaks Louis’ heart.

“Yeah,” Louis says firmly and holds tight to the nape of his neck, forcing him to look into his eyes so maybe he can _see_ just how much Louis believes it.

“You are too, you know?” Liam says quietly. Louis scoffs but Liam closes the gap between them, pressing him against the wall backstage and kissing him quiet. “You are,” he repeats, earnest and grateful, stroking his thumb against Louis’ bottom lip.

Louis tries to swallow down the lump at his throat, his heart thumping painfully in his chest. He nudges at Liam’s nose with his own, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. He loves him _so_ much more than he thought he was capable of.

“Okay,” he says and Liam nods in acceptance, kissing him again.

~

Louis wakes up abruptly, the sunlight hot and stinging on his skin, his head heavy and unbearably tight. He blinks at the sun, wondering how he slept at _all_ through the fucking glare of their makeshift room. He vaguely strings a thought together about Moroccon sun and ‘why’ before he realises he wasn’t woken up by the sun. He looks around frantically for the source, almost upsetting Liam off him and their shitty little mattress bed.

“Sorry,” Liam mumbles drowsily, hiding his face into the crook of Louis’ neck even though they’re already plastered together. His breath is hot and muggy against his skin when he says, “I fell off a bridge.”

Liam had jerked against him, making a small helpless noise and that must’ve been what woke Louis up. Louis just laughs, threading his fingers at the curls at the nape of Liam’s hair to keep him close. He knows what it feels like, to jerk awake from a dream where you’ve missed a step or fallen into the train gap, but Liam’s already going back to sleep.

“Alright, babe, I’ve got you,” he says and Liam says something else unintelligible before his breathing turns even again.

~

“When’d you get an invite to a beach party? Before or after the guy went psycho because you didn’t want to suck his cock?” Niall asks, slinging an arm around Zayn’s neck and pulling him in close to ruffle up his hair.

Zayn darts away, glaring at him and bumping into Harry’s side. Harry goes stumbling without another word until Liam catches his arm. Harry just shrugs and keeps walking, crooked smile hanging off the corner of his mouth as they make their way towards the beach.

“I woke up and it was written on my hand,” Zayn says and waves it in front of Niall’s face.

“Are you sure it’s an actual party and not a creepy way for this Dave guy to steal a lock of your hair or something?” Louis asks, flicking his fringe out of his face.

His question is answered soon enough as they get closer to the beach, the loud music thrumming towards them already heating up their blood in anticipation. They turn the corner and immediately see the sectioned off bit crammed with people and Louis whistles low.

“Jesus, how rich is this guy,” Louis asks, leading the way. “You know how I feel about posh rich kids.”

“You want their cocks in or around your mouth?” Niall asks, raising his eyebrow pointedly at Liam.

Louis ignores him and reaches forward to pinch Harry’s bum instead.

After a while of sticking to their group of friends, it’s what they’re here for anyway, they start to disperse into the dancing crowd. Zayn doesn’t mind at all, his eyes on the pretty girl with the sparkling bikini top.

Zayn’s grin spreads lazily as the heat in his stomach. His hands are on her hips, fingertips digging into her warm, smooth skin and she only smiles back, slow and dirty and _promising_. He leans forward, bridges the gap between them until they’re pushed flush against each other, surrounded by a swarm of other bodies, bare feet treading on the sand.

“Having fun?” Dave asks into his ear from behind, his hands coming up to linger on Zayn’s waist.

Zayn doesn’t rolls his eyes, hidden against the crook of Hannah’s neck. He lifts his head after a second, turning his head to shoot him a friendly grin and say, “Yeah, cheers, mate.” He doesn’t let go of his grip on Hannah’s hips, splaying his hand across the small of her back and keeping her close to send him a message that he’s _not_ interested.

Dave just looks at him for another moment, head tilted to the side so his sandy blonde hair gets caught in his eyes. He doesn’t look so young anymore, his hazel eyes sharp but then he just nods, smiling in a perfectly amiable manner. He pats Zayn on the back just as Zayn’s about to ask him what the fuck he _wants_ and starts to move along the mass of dancing bodies.

Zayn just shakes his head after him, the tension melting away when Hannah scrapes her nails through the short hair at the base of his skull.

It’s not until a little while later, when Hannah’s pulling her bikini bottom back up with a breathless laugh, tucked up against an alcove just around the corner of the beach party, that Zayn realises there’s something amiss.

He’s got a cigarette loosely held between his lips, his tingling hands fumbling around for his lighter. He grapples around blindly, fingertips skidding along the denim embedded with sand and that’s when he starts to feel the dread start to curl in his belly. He looks down at the ground frantically, dropping his cigarette by his feet in the process.

“What’s wrong, babe?” she asks, looking down from where she’s tying the sarong securely at her waist. She sweeps her honey blonde hair out of her eyes, sweat still glistening on her lovely golden skin.

“Fuck – have you seen my lighter? The silver one,” Zayn says, sinking down to his knees so he can pat at the sand around them. He was positive he had it just hours ago, he’d lighted up Hannah’s cigarette for her when she’d asked. He glances up, his eyes sharp and accusing for a moment before it softens as she drops onto her knees besides him.

“You had it before,” she says, lazily carding her hands through the sand. She looks sated and content, can’t seem to get worked out about a stranger’s most prized possession.

Zayn thinks back, trying to remember if he’d left it somewhere or where he could have dropped it. It’s his grandpa’s silver lighter, he knows he shouldn’t be so fucking dumb and careless with it but _fuck_. He’s positive he placed it back into the back pocket of his jeans, a familiar comforting weight against his skin but there’s nothing there anymore.

Zayn stills for a second before he’s scrambling back to his feet. “The fucking bastard has it,” he says, so _sure_ that he can barely figure out what to do next. He doesn’t understand why he would do it, what he’d gain from that but - Niall said there was something _shady_ about the Dave guy and Niall’s never wrong when it comes to people.

He starts to run forward, the lazy coil of warmth dissipating from his bones. Zayn doesn’t look back at a bewildered Hannah, choosing to rush towards the party again because he can’t lost it, he _can’t_. He barely makes it on time, slipping on the endless sand until he sees the glint of silver of his grandpa’s lighter, Dave lighting his cigarette before climbing into his own truck.

Zayn’s still too far to do anything but shout out in panic.

Harry’s closest to Dave’s truck, a colourful drink clutched in his hand, and he looks up abruptly at the sound. He catches sight of Zayn’s face and some kind of understanding must dawn on him because he’s hurriedly approaching Dave’s truck, following Zayn’s gaze and pointed finger. Zayn doesn’t hear what Harry says but he does hear Dave laugh out loud and push Harry away roughly, his hand splayed on his chest.

Zayn’s almost on them now, brushing past where they’ve parked their own truck. He can barely make out Liam, Louis and Niall taking a break from the heat, his attention focused completely on stopping Dave from driving away.

Dave pushes Harry away again, blowing smoke in his face before he starts his car.

“Haz, he has my lighter,” Zayn shouts out hopelessly, realising he’s not going to get there in time.

Harry doesn’t hesitate, dropping his drink and running after the truck. He flings himself into the open back easily enough, his hands clutching at the railings. Zayn laughs out loud, relief flooding his veins at idea that maybe it’s not all over. He backtracks, almost tripping over his own feet to get back to their truck. He opens the door and shoves himself into the driver’s seat, almost sitting on top of Liam’s lap in his hurry to get in.

Liam shoves over to the right, making space so Zayn can get in the driver’s seat. He looks back at Niall and Louis in confusion, sharing worried glances with them both.

“What’s happening?” Liam says, holding onto the dashboard as Zayn starts the car.

“That posh twat wanking _cunt_ stole my fucking lighter. Harry’s getting it back,” Zayn says simply and steps on the accelerator, jolting the truck into action.

Zayn’s still got that grin on his face, adrenaline rushing through his veins. The sand kicks up alongside them as he turns the corner, the music from the party fading into the distance as they get further and further away from the beach. Dave’s truck looms into view and they can barely make out Harry, holding onto the railing and banging on the glass pane dividing the truck.

“Fucking hell, what does he think he’s doing?” Louis asks, gripping onto the front seats and leaning forward. He swears again as the truck bounces against the potholes, knuckles turning white from the force of his grip.

“I think he’s seen us,” Zayn says triumphantly, speeding up to catch up to them.

“Hey, what’s the plan here?” Liam asks, grabbing Zayn’s arm hard enough to bruise, his voice steadier in direct contrast to it.

Zayn can’t think straight, it’s all happened so fast but if they can just make Dave _stop_ so they can get his lighter back, Harry can get off the back of his truck and there’ll be no harm done. With blood pounding in his ears, Zayn presses down on the pedal.

The silence is interrupted by Niall’s, “Holy shit.”

Liam swears as well, twisting around to check Niall and Louis are seeing the same thing he and Zayn are.

Dave’s started to drive recklessly, zig-zagging across the sandy path so Harry can barely hold onto the railings and not go skidding over onto the road. Zayn gapes wordlessly, glancing at Liam in panic. The lighter’s forgotten in a millisecond, it’s clear Dave’s not fucking around and getting Harry off the back of the truck’s safe has eclipsed everything.

“Shit shit _shit_ ,” Zayn mutters, fear replacing the jolt of action he’d previously felt. He hits the steering wheel, gritting his teeth. “What do we do?” he asks, turning to Liam helplessly for a solution. The whole thing’s spiralled out of control too fast and he can’t do anything but keep on driving.

“We need to get Harry off before he-,” Louis says frantically, “drive faster.”

Zayn doesn’t know how they can get Harry off if Dave doesn’t stop. It’s not like they can catch him if he falls off. He still speeds up, his foot almost flat to the ground, his hands gripping at the steering wheel hard enough to bruise to keep it in control.

They gain on Dave’s truck but there’s nothing else they can do but yell at Dave to pull over. Zayn sticks his head out the window, panic clawing at his throat now that he can see the way Harry’s clutching at the railway, eyes huge and green with fear.

“Pull the fuck over!” he yells, sand clogging up the back of his throat, wind deafening in his ears. He can barely hear the other boys shouting the same, the sand sweeping into his eyes.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t see it coming. It’s a blur in his peripheral vision and it looks like it could be Harry falling off the back of the truck and he swerves in panic to avoid hitting him.

~

It’s suddenly all too quiet, pressure building against Louis’ ears and it should _hurt_ but all he can feel is the silence. It’s like he’s underwater, falling deeper and deeper into the ocean, his eyes stinging harshly as he struggles to open them. He can’t breathe, the force pressing against his ribcage and threatening to cave in against is heart making it difficult. He blinks slowly, the whole world is moving slowly and it’s like he can see each individual speck of dust and debris fall through the air, and suddenly the switch is turned back on and all his senses come rushing back.

Louis gasps against the sudden onslaught of sound, trying to get his head straight without panicking against the feeling of _drowning_. And that’s when the blood starts rushing in his ear, so loud over the screams and echoing of heaving metal and he feels too numb to move. He realises that he’s in the truck, flipped onto its side, with glass and metal embedding into his skin.

He can hear someone calling out his name in the background but it all fades away to a white noise, the sirens and the shouting and the panic, because _Liam_. Louis knows without looking around, he _knows,_ that it’s just the two of them in the truck and he’s struggling to keep from losing his fucking head and start screaming in terror.

“Liam,” Louis chokes out, his throat closing up. The noises are getting louder, telling him to get the fuck out of the truck if he can still move but he’s not leaving. “No, no, no, please, Liam, _no_ ,” Louis chants desperately, trying to do something, _anything_.

He’s bleeding. There’s so much blood matting Liam’s hair to his face and he’s looking at him, his eyes warm and kind as always even if his face is coloured ashen and his lips are bright with unspoilt blood. Louis gasps in relief and reaches for his hand, grasping it tight and feeling his heart beat wildly in relief when Liam squeezes back weakly for a second.

He still can’t seem to be able to say anything else, can’t say a word or even reach for his seatbelt and Louis’ never felt so helpless in his life. They’re still yelling hoarsely in the background, pleading for him to get out because they can’t do anything for him now. It doesn’t register in his mind, the words, not really, and he just holds on tight until he must be causing Liam pain. He makes no sign he can feel it though, his eyelids turning heavy, choking on an inhale.

“Help, somebody help me,” Louis says, unable to take his eyes off Liam but frantic in the way he says it, for anyone to fucking hear him over the den of noise. He doesn’t understand where Zayn and Niall are, why they aren’t here helping Louis get Liam out.

“Lou,” Liam says, so _so_ quiet. He lifts his gaze with difficulty, struggling to keep his eyes open and says, “Let go. It’s alright.”

Louis _doesn’t_ , he won’t let go, he just holds on until his fingernails are digging into Liam’s skin. Liam’s already closed his eyes and no matter how much Louis’ screams at him he doesn’t open them again.

~

“Morning, Eileen, you look lovely today as always,” Louis says, handing over a cup of coffee to her over the high counter. He stands there for a moment, grinning widely as she looks over at him suspiciously like she does every day. He’d briefly considered trying another sneak attack, crawling low so she wouldn’t see him but he figures he should mix things up a bit.

“Child, don’t you have school or something?” she asks, taking a sip of the disgustingly expensive shit Louis’ spending all his money on lately.

“Let’s cut to the chase, babe,” Louis says and ignores the way she narrows her eyes at that. “I think today’s the day you’re going to let me in to see the future father of my adopted children, don’t you?”

Eileen rolls her eyes, taking another generous sip of the coffee and shaking her head at him with an expression on her face that clearly says _no chance in hell_. She tips the cup his way in thanks and starts to get up to do her other nursing duties that don’t involve devastating teenage boys.

Louis takes a moment to stare at the picture of him that Liam’s parents have lovingly printed up and pasted along this section of the hospital. The one that says ‘BARRED’ in huge red letters. They’ve cropped Liam out of the picture and Louis figured they must’ve taken it from his room. At least they used a good picture even if it’s ruining his chances of sneaking in to see Liam at all.

“What if he wakes up today? Are you seriously going to keep me away from my one and only?” Louis says, stepping in front of her so she won’t be able to leave. She rests a hand on his chest and pushes with surprising force.

“Okay, alright, alright, I apologise,” Louis says, holding his hands up and trying a different path. He makes his eyes as sad and big as possible, sticking his bottom lip out and repeats, “ _My one and only_.”

She looks at him for a moment, brown eyes pitying and showing human emotion for a millisecond before she says, “You’re not allowed, Tomlinson, you know this.”

“But what’s a secret between best pals, huh?” Louis asks, glancing pointedly down at the coffee in her hand.

Eileen opens her mouth but she’s rudely interrupted as the door swings open and Liam’s dad walks through.

“Out,” is all he says, pointing towards the door at the other side of the corridor, lips pursed into a thin line. “Or else I’ll call security. _Again._ ”

“Monsieur Payne, I just want to see him once,” Louis says, spinning around frantically. “Just once!” he repeats, desperate.

He doesn’t budge, crossing his arms and staring at Louis stonily. Louis makes a show of folding, holding his hands up again and looking from Eileen to Liam’s dad. “Alright. Not today. I’m going, I’m going.”

Louis turns around and takes two steps before twisting around again and making a run for the door where he knows Liam’s in. He makes it another couple of steps before Liam’s dad darts in front of him and grabs him by the shoulders. He struggles for a moment, he was so fucking _close_ before admitting defeat, sagging against him until he lets go.

“Nurse, call security,” he says at the same time Louis struggles free from his grip.

“It’s fine, I’m leaving,” Louis spits out. He shares a dark look with Eileen on his way out, at least she’s on his side for this, and leaves.

“Fuck,” he says to himself, scrubbing at his eyes as he exits the hospital after another unsuccessful day.

He just knows it’ll be all okay if he could just see Liam. He’d wake up.

~

Louis jerks awake, making a small sound before he can help himself. He glances around frantically, his heart beating a mile a minute. He struggles to open his eyes since he could just as easily fall back asleep. His heartbeat’s calming down slowly but Louis can feel the blood rushing underneath his skin from falling off the bridge in his dream.

Louis almost falls off the bed as his phone starts blaring on the bedside table. He glances around blearily, hanging off the edge of the mattress, and finally gains enough sense to grapple around for his phone. It’s 3am and he’d only just been able to fall asleep an hour ago. He swears under his breath, fumbling with his phone. His finger’s already on the reject button, familiar and practised by now, until he sees Liam’s face on the screen.

He drops his phone again and it bounces under his bed. Louis swears more frantically, falling off his bed after it and shoving his hand under to grab it again. He takes a moment to stare at the screen in disbelief when he gets it back, rubbing at his eyes enough to hurt, and answers the phone.

“It was a long fall.”

“Liam?” Louis asks, his voice raspy from the little sleep he could get. He’s not expecting it, almost drops his phone in surprise when Liam replies.

“I don’t like it here,” Liam says, voice sounding tiny from the speakers of Louis’ phone.

Louis perks up immediately, jumping up onto his feet, his heart swelling up three sizes too big. He’s smiling so hard he thinks his cheeks are going to sprain but he can’t stop – Liam’s _awake_.

“When did you wake up?” Louis asks and makes a derisive noise in the back of his throat, “That doesn’t fucking matter. _Liam_ ,” Louis breathes out, sinking back down into his back, his hands shaking from the sudden rush in his bloodstream.

“Did you miss me?” he asks, laughing into the phone and it’s not particularly funny but Louis _did_ and it’s so good to hear his voice again, he’s laughing harder than he has in weeks.

“Yeah, you fucking twat, I bloody missed you,” Louis says, resting his palm over his chest to feel his heart thumping painfully against his chest. “Don’t do that again!”

“I’ll try not to, Lou, I’ll try to keep myself from falling into comas,” Liam says with another laugh, quieter this time. “I can’t talk much, my dad’s going to come in soon.”

“I’ve been trying to go in and see you but your dad,” Louis says urgently.

“I know,” Liam says, cutting him off. “I want to – I want to go home. I miss you. I don’t want to be here in the hospital,” he says, sighing.

Louis sits up against his pillows, holding the phone firmly against his ear so he doesn’t miss a word he says. “Don’t worry, I’ll come get you,” Louis promises into the phone and Liam laughs again.

“Alright,” he says. There’s a rustling noise on his end and he says in a hushed whisper, “Ah crap, I’ve got to go.”

“Okay,” Louis says, nodding even if Liam can’t see him. He’s already planning out ways he can free Liam. He should make t-shirts with ‘#freeliam’ on it. He’d love it.

“I love you,” Louis says, holding his breath for reasons he can’t seem to analyse right now.

“Love you too,” Liam says and hangs up.

~

“And where do you think you’re going?” Eileen asks, not even looking up from her computer as Louis attempts to shimmy himself along the floor.

“Once, Eileen, _once_ ,” Louis begs, holding his palms together and looking up at her through his eyelashes.

“You’re not allowed,” she says, stoic as ever and mutters, “little shit didn’t even bring a coffee this morning.”

“He asked me to come, he needs me,” Louis cries out, admittedly a tad too dramatically but he’s long gone past the point of no return. He shuffles up onto his knees, staggering over towards the desk set up so he could look even more pathetic and small.

It must be working because Eileen pauses for a moment, staring down at him with an unreadable expression on her face. Her mouth tightens and her eyes turn sad just for a brief moment before she snaps back into herself.

“Five minutes,” she says and turns around, hiding her face.

“Oh, I could kiss you,” Louis says, scrambling onto his feet. He reaches for her but she bats him away, keeping her head turned away and says, “Don’t you dare.”

He doesn’t waste any more time on Eileen. Liam’s worn shoes skid against the shiny floors as he sprints down the corridor, so excited he thinks his head is going to burst. He slams bodily into the door, shoving it open and ignoring the excruciating pain in his left shoulder to rush towards Liam.

“You’re awake,” Louis says and Liam smiles up at him, dimples appearing under his eyes from the force of it.

Louis can’t help himself, mindful of the various tubes and machines Liam’s hooked into, he leans over and lands pecks all over his face, murmuring the words over and over again until Liam’s giggling tiredly, pushing at him half-heartedly.

“They won’t tell me anything,” Louis says, finally settling back far enough to stare at Liam’s face. He looks so tired, purple marks under his eyes contrasting starkly to his pale skin like permanent marker stains, his face thinned out from weeks of inaction.

“Me neither,” Liam says but he grabs Louis’ hand and holds on tight, pressing their palms together.

Louis makes a happy noise in the back of his throat, absolutely giddy from it, and leans forward again, this time slower. He keeps his eyes wide open, making sure it’s okay for him to do this and barely brushes their mouths together. Liam rolls his eyes, still smiling into Louis’ mouth as he lifts his head off the pillow to press their lips together firmly.

Louis pulls back, still leaning over Liam awkwardly so he won’t crush him unnecessarily. He takes a good long look at him, his heart still high in his throat with relief because he’s _safe_. Louis trails his fingertips down the side of Liam’s face, over the healing scratches at his jawline, dipping into the underside of his chin.

“I look like shit,” Liam says, grinning in that self-deprecating way that Louis’ so familiar with by now.

Louis shakes his head, can’t find the words to say what the dread in his stomach is telling him. So instead, he cups Liam’s jaw carefully, avoiding the side of his head, and leans forward to kiss the corner of his mouth sweetly.

“Don’t do that again, Liam, don’t leave me,” Louis says, his voice turning hoarse and his eyes stinging.

Liam grips at Louis’ hand, keeping him firm against him and makes more promises against his lips, wiping at Louis’ wet cheekbones with his other hand. He pulls Louis down until he can wrap his thin arms around him, holding him close and running a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” Louis starts to say, the words coming out almost as a sob but Liam only kisses him again, harder this time, as if he’s trying to stop Louis from doing this to himself. He does so until Louis turns pliant, opening up his mouth and letting Liam comfort him like he couldn’t do for all those weeks.

The door slams open and Louis’ eyes flutter open, his eyelashes sticking damply against each other. Louis turns around, still holding onto Liam’s hands and Liam’s dad only ushers the security guard through the door.

~

“Honey, are you coming down for dinner?” Louis’ mum calls up the stairs.

Louis’ about to go down but his phone starts ringing again, Liam’s picture flashing on the screen, and he almost breaks his neck making a dive for it. He grabs it, answering immediately and holding it pressed between his shoulder and ear as he yells a reply to his mum.

“Nah, I’m not hungry,” he says, poking his head out the door to wave at his mum. He shuts the door quickly behind him, cutting off whatever she was going to say about how he needs to keep his strength up. He feels guilty but Liam never has long to talk on the phone, Louis still doesn’t know how he’s doing it. He hasn’t asked, they’ve got better things to be talking about.

“Hey,” Louis breathes out, jumping back onto his bed and bouncing slightly.

“They’re taking me to Switzerland,” Liam says urgently and Louis has to strain to hear what he says next, “I don’t want to go to Switzerland.”

“Why the bloody hell is your dad taking you to Switzerland?” Louis demands, sitting up abruptly.

“He says there’s a clinic - for me to get better,” Liam says and he sounds miserable and tiny.

“But you _are_ better,” Louis says, his fist curled into a tight fist. He’s almost shaking, he can’t have Liam move to Switzerland – he needs him.

“Try telling him that,” Liam says. “I want to stay here with you.”

Louis deflates at that, sinking back against his pillows again. “I want you here too,” he says and doesn’t wonder for the millionth time why he can’t hear the machines in the background.

~

The next day, Louis wakes up bright and early to skip breakfast and go to Liam’s house. He needs to talk some sense into his dad, they can’t take Liam away. This is his _home_.

He knocks frantically on the door, taking a step back to look up at his huge house. He knows which window’s Liam’s, he’s climbed out of it in a hurry enough times by now. His room looks dark and emptier than ever and it twists something low in Louis’ gut.

“Mr. Payne,” Louis tries, banging with a flat palm against the wood of the door.

He stops after five minutes of relentless barrage, his hands stinging and probably bruised. It’s only then he takes the time to look around and realises both their cars are gone. He walks around the house cautiously, the gravel digging into the soles of his worn shoes. There’s no-one in the house, just piles of boxes and rolled up rugs.

“Shit,” Louis says and starts running for the hospital.

~

“You can’t take him to Switzerland,” Louis says as he bursts through the doors, gasping for breath.

He’s clutching at his side, stitch splitting him into two, as he wipes the sweat from his forehead. He blinks rapidly, trying to get the next words out before they throw him out again.

“Who told you that?” Liam’s dad asks, looking up from the forms he’s signing.

“Please, you can’t,” Louis says desperately, his breathing pattern refusing to calm down.

“You need to go,” is all he says, his expression stormy.

Louis slumps against the doors, ragged gasps tearing out of his throat as he slides towards the floor. It hurts to breathe, his lungs are on fire and he feels like he’s going to suffocate. His doesn’t realise he’s crying until he feels it dripping onto his shirt, his head in his hands.

“Go home,” Liam’s dad says but it’s less harsh.

Louis finally lifts his head, still struggling for breath and watches helplessly as Liam’s dad disappears inside his room.

~

There’s nothing Louis can do and it’s like this crushing pressure against his ribcage. He wants to pick his skin apart, can’t stand the way it feels like it’s suffocating him. He hates this all-consuming helplessness that he won’t make a difference no matter how hard he tries, and he just wants Liam.

He’s always just wanted Liam in the end.

~

“Lou, wake up.”

Louis doesn’t register anything in his sleep-addled haze. He rolls over onto his front, smushing his face against the pillow and shrugs the hand off his shoulder.

“It’s me,” he says and the persistent hand is back.

Louis ignores him for another moment, his eyes glued shut. He almost rolls right off the edge when he realises who it is, jerking upright and scrambling back against the headboard of his bed. He stares for a while, his eyes suddenly huge and terrified.

“Liam?” he asks, reaching over to turn on the lamp.

Liam just smiles in the glow of the lamp, shadows digging under his eyes. He crawls onto the bed on his hands and knees until he’s leaning over Louis.

“Yeah?” he asks, their faces as close as they can be without touching.

Louis surges forward to kiss him hard, throwing his arms around his shoulders to pull him in closer. He’s not as skinny as he was in the hospital, his shoulders feeling broad and strong against his palms as always. Liam laughs as he falls on top of Louis, a familiar, reassuring weight pressing him into the mattress and kisses him again.

“Are you going to stay?” Louis asks, holding onto the nape of his neck and gasping as Liam moves against him.

“I’ll be right here,” Liam says into his ear.

~

In the morning Liam’s gone and Louis’ bed is startling cold. He scrambles around frenetically for his phone, swearing in earnest when he knocks it off his bedside table. He dials Liam’s number, holding the phone up to his ear while tugging his trousers on with his other hand. He doesn’t pick up and it goes straight to his voicemail, the one Liam had tried to record while Louis wriggled around on his lap for no real reason at all.

“Are you going to college?” his mum asks as Louis races out the door, his shirt unbuttoned halfway and his hair a mess.

He doesn’t reply but sets off in the direction of the hospital. He doesn’t even make it inside the building this time, his feet skidding to a stop as he nears the car park.

“Why are you taking him away from us?” Louis shouts, surprising himself as much as Liam’s dad.

He spins around from his car, eyes blown wide with shock. He realises who it is and relaxes, already starting to shake his head.

Louis can barely see straight, he hates him so fucking much. He tries to pull himself together, stop shaking like a leaf in the wind and clear his throat so he can say what he needs to say. He wipes roughly at his eyes, digging the heel of his palm against the bone.

“He doesn’t want to go, Liam said he wants to stay,” Louis says, his hands dropping uselessly to his side. “Why won’t you do what he says?” Louis pleads and he’s just so fucking tired.

“Louis,” Liam’s dad says, his voice wobbling dangerously. Louis turns stock-still, that sense of foreboding curling around his limbs until he feels like he’s just going to drop. He shakes his head, trying to block his voice out because he’s never said his name before. “He never woke up.”

Louis just stares, his hands slack against his sides and the tightly coiled anger disappearing to be replaced by coldness. He still can’t move when he says, “Do you understand, son? He’s not awake.”

“No, no, _no_ ,” Louis says, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

He knows, though, he knows before the screen comes to life that his recent calls list will be just rejected calls from Harry and Niall. He _knows_ but he still shakes his head, backing away from Liam’s dad as if he’s in a daze.

The next thing he knows, there’s a hand gripping his shoulder firmly. Liam’s dad guides him into the hospital silently and Louis knows he’s shaking again, the hand falling off him in surprise. He doesn’t her anything, not Eileen or what he says to the security guard stationed outside his door. He’s deaf to everything else in the hospital until he enters Liam’s room and the beeping machines filter in. It’s too fucking loud and Louis can’t hear anything else, can’t hear Liam breathing over it.

And Liam. His eyes are closed. He looks so peaceful like he could be sleeping.

Louis staggers forward on aching limbs and grabs his hand lying limp on the sheets. He’s hooked up to the machines, looks settled as if he hasn’t moved in weeks. Louis makes an awful noise in the back of his throat, leaning over Liam as if he’s bleeding out from his stomach.

“Please?” he says into Liam’s ear, so quiet he can barely hear it himself over the hum of the machines. “Please,” he repeats, his voice breaking so much it doesn’t even sound like his own anymore.

There’s no response from Liam. Louis stays hunched over him, tears dripping down onto the pillows next to Liam’s head as he frantically pleads for him to open his eyes.

~

He’s so fucking tired, trying to keep himself going as if the chances of Liam responding are entirely dependent on how long he can do this. Liam’s dad comes back after a while and leads him out. Louis goes because he needs to. There’s something different about the way Liam’s dad’s treating him now. Louis doesn’t have the energy to startle when he gets pulled into a brief hug.

“It’s okay, son, he’s not going anywhere.”

~

It’s somehow better now, it feels like Louis could possibly do this. Well, it still feels like the world’s going to swallow him whole at any given time but it gets easier to sit by Liam’s bed now that he’s allowed. He’s there almost every day, keeping Liam company and talking to his quiet mum across Liam’s prone form.

Liam’s dad treats him differently too, like he’s realised just how much Louis loves him. He’d be offended by the fact he didn’t believe him in the first place but he’s too busy talking to Liam.

Because he’s going to wake up. And when he does, Louis’ going to quiz him on _everything_.

Harry and Niall shuffle their way into the hospital room as Louis’ reading a list of different ways you can say butthole to Liam. Louis looks up, his hand stilling from its scrolling to smile cautiously up at them. He

Niall looks the same as always, maybe a little bit thinner and worn around the edges but he looks whole. Harry, well, Harry’s a completely different story. He looks fucking wrecked, his eyes puffy and red, and his skin so pale Louis can make out the blue veins under the thin skin. He’s wrapped up in a jumper so big he seems to be drowning in it, sleeves pulled over his broad palms and damp from how he’s constantly swiping at his face.

Louis knows he’s not been answering any of their calls since they’ve gotten back from Morocco, ignored them and made sure his mum didn’t let them inside the house. The few times he’s been to college since the whole thing started, he’d avoided the both of them like a plague. He just couldn’t see them, especially not when they needed him the most. He knows how Harry works and he’s been hurting this whole time, blaming himself for everything and guilt wracks through his body so hard he gets up before he knows what he’s doing.

He doesn’t hesitate to reach for Harry, pulling him close and tucking his face into the crook of his neck with a firm grip at the nape of his neck. Harry, as he knew he would, starts sobbing, fingers scrabbling desperately at the material of Louis’ jacket. He’s stooped over, slumping as if he can’t stand up on his own.

“I’m so sorry, Louis, I,” he gasps once he’s calmed down enough to speak, his whole body shaking against his.

Louis shushes him, squeezing his arms tighter around him. He presses a kiss to his temple, murmuring soothingly to calm him down. Harry quietens down but he’s still crying, his hands constantly moving against Louis’ back, as if he can’t find purchase in him.

“Hey,” Louis says to Niall over Harry’s head, running a palm down Harry’s spine and resting it over Niall’s hand at the small of his back.

“Hiya,” Niall says, grinning at him and tilts his head in Liam’s direction. “How’s he doing?”

Louis doesn’t reply but Niall nods in understanding anyway and pulls up a chair.

~

Harry ends up curled up at the end of Liam’s bed, tucked in on himself like he’s trying to take up as little space as possible. Louis pets his hair until his eyelids start drooping and he falls asleep.

“He hasn’t been sleeping lately,” Niall confesses quietly, his hand curled around Harry’s ankle like he needs the constant comfort. He sweeps his thumb across the jutting bone, circling it absently, almost as if he doesn’t know he’s doing it.

“Or eating by the looks of it,” Louis says, his hand tangled in Harry’s hair.

“Yeah,” Niall says and now that Harry’s asleep, eyes shut and unable to see Niall, he looks so fucking sad it breaks Louis all over again.

“How about you?” Louis asks, lifting his eyes from Harry’s sleeping form. He’s always looked after everyone until they needed him the most.

“Alright,” Niall says and shrugs as if to say ‘ _as much as you can when one of your best friend’s in a coma’._ “Haven’t spoken to Zayn lately,” Niall says cautiously, biting down on his bottom lip.

“He hasn’t called,” Louis says and looks back down at Liam, how familiar it is to see him in that pose, as if he’s mocking sleep.

“He’s not – he’s not good,” Niall says and his voice breaks. “We’re all not but he’s, Louis, he’s,” Niall gapes as if he can’t find the words to say what he’s looking for.

Louis clambers up from his usual seat by Liam, walking over on shaky legs to gather Niall in a bone-crushing hug. He doesn’t let go for a while, letting Niall fist his hands in his t-shirt and breathe in shakily.

“Don’t worry, I’ll fix it,” Louis says and he thinks he hears Niall laugh bitterly but it’s his job, always has been and always will be.

~

The four of them spend more time than ever together, talking and talking and talking so Liam won’t forget their voices. But Louis goes alone when he tracks down Zayn, keeping Niall and Harry in Liam’s room.

He’s in an underground club and the music’s so loud it’s pounding itself into Louis’ skull. Zayn’s dancing, his head thrown back to show off the glean of sweat at the column of his throat, and he’s laughing in a manner that tells Louis he’s not sober. Louis watches him for a moment, feels sick with every passing minute, and starts shoving his way through the crowd to get to him.

He grabs his arm hard enough to bruise and Zayn’s eyes flutter open, his eyelashes sticking together from the damp heat. The laughter dies in his throat when he sees who it is, his blown pupils darting around as if he’s looking for an escape route. Louis doesn’t let go of his arm, he just digs his fingertips in and starts pulling him out of the crowd.

Zayn turns pliant easily enough, letting Louis shove him up against the wall outside the club so hard his head cracks against the surface. He just laughs again, not even bracing himself against the wall or Louis’ anger.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Louis asks, watching Zayn quieten down into himself.

“Nowhere,” Zayn says and shrugs, his motions exaggerated and clumsy.

“He’s your _best_ friend,” Louis says, cutting straight to the chase because he doesn’t want to see this anymore.

Zayn stills as if he’s been slapped in the face or been doused in cold water. He blinks up at Louis slowly, tilting his head to the side and lets an empty grin spread on his face. He looks like he’s about to start crying or laughing maniacally. Louis doesn’t think of what kind of bender Zayn’s been on this whole time.

“He was my best friend,” Zayn says and laughs as if that’s the funniest thing he’s ever said. He keeps laughing, hard and wracking his whole body, until it turns into something painful to watch. He can barely breathe with the way his body’s shaking uncontrollably.

“What are you doing, man?” Louis asks, gentler this time even though all he really wants to do is push Zayn up against the wall and hold his arm across his throat.

“He _was_ my best friend,” Zayn repeats hysterically, sinking down against the wall. The sound he’s making is definitely not laughter anymore, it’s fucking sorrow and he’s consumed with it.

“Don’t say that,” Louis says firmly, getting down on his knees to grip at Zayn’s shoulder.

Zayn shoves him away, scrambling back against the wall like he can’t stand the thought of anyone touching him. He shakes his head, scratching at the insides of his wrist and says, “I was the one driving.”

“Zayn,” Louis says softly, barely heard over the music thumping from inside.

“For a fucking _lighter_. He’s dead because of me,” Zayn says, ignoring Louis and running the words over his tongue over and over again.

Louis grabs him by the lapel of his denim jacket and shoves him back against the wall as hard as he can, his head slamming against the bricks again. He’s grits his teeth and hisses out, “Don’t say that again.”

Zayn doesn’t fight him, sobbing out garbled words and clutching at Louis’ hand in desperation. Louis loosens his grip, his hands coming up to cup Zayn’s face instead. He’s crying, almost screaming and Louis pulls him in close to muffle the horrible sounds.

~

Zayn walks through the unfamiliar white corridors, eyeing the people milling around warily. He can’t stop picking at his scabs, his fingernails digging into his skin and he thinks how easily he could just turn around and walk back out of the hospital. He doesn’t though, keeps his shoulders level and hysteria at bay at being surrounded by all this cleanliness after weeks of being filthy.

He doesn’t cry when he walks into Liam’s room, watches him immobile and thinning into the bed sheets until he can’t. He makes it out of the hospital before he vomits all over the pavement and scrubs his palms across his face. Niall comes to pick him up, holds his hand tightly until he can breathe through his nose again without choking.

“He’s not going to wake up,” Zayn says, curled up in Niall’s bed. He’s been manhandled into pyjamas, soft and worn from use, and tucked into bed by Niall’s patient hands.

“Don’t do this to yourself, Zayn,” Niall pleads, getting into bed behind him. He curls around his back, pressing his face against the back of his neck. He sounds desperate and small, like it’s something he needs Zayn to do for him.

~

Harry’s the only one in the room when Liam’s eyes struggle open. It’s like in the movies, except it’s not because it takes weeks and months, but it’s like in the movies for Harry. He stands there gaping, so fucking terrified, before his body snaps into action and he’s darting out into the corridors.

~

They say it’s a miracle, one in a million, a fucking phenomenon.

Impossible.

~

“You alright there, miracle boy?” Louis asks. To anyone else it might seem like he’s falling on top of Liam as per usual, all elbows and knees and trust in Liam to cushion his fault but Liam catches the way he’s careful, doesn’t end up winding him at all. Liam lifts his arm and cuddles him close anyway, Louis’ a bit sweaty and red from the game but he doesn’t care.

“Oh god, please stop saying that,” Liam says, wrinkling his nose. He’s spread out on top of a picnic blanket, idly watching the boys play football and not being able to work up the energy to go play with them. He doesn’t like it when they treat him like glass and he just ends up trying to prove his just as good as he was before and it just ends badly for everyone involved. And Louis always looks so sad whenever that happens.

“But you are,” Louis says, tucking himself into his side better and nosing his way up along Liam’s jaw. Louis puts on a ridiculous accent, pitching his voice high and says, “My Miracle Boy,” with a messy smooch against his cheek.

Liam groans loudly, trying to hide the smile that’s already spreading on his face because that’s fucking _terrible_. He’s had enough of the papers and the news cameras being shoved in his face shouting the same two words. It’s embarrassing and all the attention is making him want to hide under a rock for a couple of years. It’s not all that bad when Louis says it though – it _should_ be, Liam’s at least aware of that.

“Hey, c’mon,” Zayn calls out, his back turned to the football match. It’s mostly Niall jumping on Harry’s back and trying to lick his ears.

Liam turns to Zayn in gratefulness; he’s always been there to help him out when everyone else is being ridiculous.

“Don’t hog the miracle boy,” he just says instead, jogging up towards them and sprawling on Liam’s other side. He reaches over and kisses him too, messy and over-exaggerated and Liam pushes at him, trying to squirm away.

“Oi, what’s going on,” Niall asks indignantly, his arm slung around Harry’s. He’s standing on his tippy-toes to manage it and Harry’s half-dragging him along but he doesn’t seem to mind at all.

“You’re not invited to this threesome,” Louis says primly. He turns to Zayn and gives him an obvious once-over, “Malik, you’re well fit. Liam and I have been talking about spicing up our love life.”

“No, we have _not_ ,” Liam says desperately, pushing at Louis’ mouth to shut him up. Louis just licks his hand, wriggling his eyebrows and Liam doesn’t even have it in him to look disgusted. “We haven’t, I swear to god.”

“Me doth the miracle boy doth protest too much,” Niall says, turning to Harry for approval. “Doth,” he adds in for good measure.

“Good enough,” Harry says, shaking his head and leans forward to kiss him.

Liam still can’t figure out how that’s happened but he thinks he has a good enough excuse.

“I need to get a girlfriend,” Zayn says, crossing his arms, leaning against Liam’s shoulder. He tries to sound huffy and long-suffering but he’s not fooling anyone.

“Isn’t Matilda your,” Louis starts, cutting himself off as Liam starts to laugh and Zayn shakes his head adamantly, looking at Louis as if he’s stupid.

Some things never change.

~

Louis goes back to college for the day to sort his school life out and Liam comes with him. Louis’ majorly fucked up his last year of college and he’s not sure if he can plead insanity and retake the exams or if he’s going to have to repeat a year. He’s most probably going to have to repeat a year, tease Harry and Niall for being boring university students while he spends another whole year in this shithole. It’s not all that bad though, Liam has to stay back a year too.

He’s all sorted though; being in a coma comes with its advantages. Louis has a lot more forms to fill out and interviews to do because he _hasn’t_ been in a coma or anything special like that. He tells this to Liam with a shake of his head, complaining about how the world just isn’t fair, but Liam just rolls his eyes and shuts him up with a kiss. Louis acts like that isn’t his plan every single time.

Louis goes off to talk with the careers advisor who equal parts adore and hate him to figure out how he’s going to fix this as best as he can. When he finishes his meeting, Liam’s in the corridors anymore but something tells Louis exactly where he is.

“Hey,” Louis says, stepping into the music room. He shuts the door behind him and shuffles up behind Liam at the piano. He wraps his arms around him, leaning down so his chest is against Liam’s back.

“I don’t think I can do it,” Liam says, his hands clasped tight in his lap.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Here, we’ll start with this one,” Louis says, reaching over Liam to start playing the chopsticks.


End file.
